


Signs and Portents

by SteelyM



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelyM/pseuds/SteelyM
Summary: Late in her pregnancy, Emma has a terrible dream about giving birth to her daughter, and she worries that it is a sign of things to come. Will she and Killian give into fear, or will they be able to hold onto the hope that their daughter will arrive safely, free of the kinds of dangers that faced them years ago? Canon-compliant CaptainSwan pregnancy angst and fluff.





	Signs and Portents

“Push, Emma.”

The voice that had spoken was monotone, lifeless. There was no urgency, certainly no warmth.

She was conscious of being cold as she obeyed, her sweaty limbs chilled, her thin hospital gown clinging to her body. She knew that she was in pain, but weirdly, she didn't feel it. The overriding sensation, even more than the cold, was that of being trapped. She felt like someone had glued her to the bed, so that even if she tried to shift her position, she couldn't.

When she looked down, however, she realized that it wasn't glue that held her fast. Cold steel handcuffs bound her to the rails of her hospital bed.

“Push,” that voice said again.

She looked up this time and recognized his face. It was the same old doctor from before. The one from the prison in Arizona where she delivered Henry. But this man was different somehow. His eyes were as flat and lifeless as his voice. There were no warm words of encouragement, just a cold order to push.

 She looked around. The ugly striped wallpaper. The stony faced guard in a brown uniform.

 She was back in the prison hospital delivering Henry.

 But that wasn't right. Henry was grown now. He had left to find his own story in another realm. And he was okay. He had gotten a message to her just days ago, and he was okay.

 She wasn't delivering Henry. She wasn't in prison anymore; she lived in their beautiful house in Storybrooke. And she was pregnant with a girl this time. She and Killian had been overjoyed with the news (they'd had a feeling from the start that it was a girl.)

 Killian.

Where was Killian? There was no way in hell that he wouldn't be here, squeezing her hand, stroking her hair, encouraging her. She'd never seen anyone as excited about _anything_ as he was about this baby. He would be here.

This was all wrong.

“Push.”

She felt something like pressure, and then a release, and she screamed in pain and terror even though the pain never really came. The lights in the room flickered just like they had then, with Henry, and she knew that she had delivered the child.

She lifted her head as far as she could, trying frantically to see the doctor and her baby, but he had taken the child from between her legs and turned his back. He was facing the door now.

The room was silent. Emma tried to find her voice so that she could ask for her daughter; ask why she wasn't crying, but only a strangled whimper came out.

She followed the doctor's gaze toward the doorway of the room and gasped in terror as she realized that someone was coming for her baby.

A tall, hooded figure glided down the dimly lit hallway towards her room. She couldn't see its face. But she could hear it whisper. Or, more precisely, hear them whisper. An amalgamation of voices, and different languages, all sinister. Some, she couldn't identify. Others were quite familiar.

One was her own.

Icy fear ran down her spine as she understood what the voices that whispered to her now.

“Thank you for this gift, Emma. She is ours.”

Her mind was screaming the word “no,” but her voice didn't work. Her body wouldn't move, and she watched, drowning in an icy deluge of pure terror as the doctor handed her baby to the figure.

The black clad demon gave a barely perceptible nod in Emma's direction as she gaped at it, then it suddenly disappeared in a cloud of red smoke.

Her daughter was gone.

Taken by the Dark One.

 

“Emma, Emma!”

This voice she knew. This voice wasn't cold and flat; it was all fire and feeling, and right now, suffused with worry.

“Emma, it's okay. Wake up.”

Killian's voice. His warm hand on her arm; his breath on her face as he pleaded with her.

“It was a nightmare, love. Please come back to me now. You're safe.”

Her eyes opened, and she looked up and slightly to the right into the concerned face of her husband. She breathed. She blinked. She reached up instinctively to touch her round belly, taking inventory of her situation.

Still quite pregnant? Check.

Home in her own bed? Check.

Lying next to her beloved husband whose dark hair was now sticking up adorably at all angles as he anxiously watched her gather herself? Check.

She found her voice.

“It's okay,” she assured him. “I'm awake. I'm fine.”

Killian exhaled and propped himself up on his left elbow as he continued to stroke her arm soothingly. She scooted back a bit and sat up slightly, resting on her pillows. She  _was_ cold. The duvet had slid down towards the foot of the bed. She bent to reach for it, but Killian immediately realized what she was doing, sat up, and pulled up the covers for her. He tucked the duvet around her left side, then snuggled against her right, pulling the blanket all the way up over them both. He laid on his left side and, under the covers, reached for her hand. She grasped his tightly in return.

There was enough predawn light coming into their room that she could see the worry lines on his face when she turned to look at him.

“A bad nightmare, wasn't it?” He asked quietly.

She hesitated. Emma Swan was not the type of person to cry or fret over a dream. She'd had nightmares all her life, same as anyone.

Except, in her case, for most of her life, nobody was there to care or to comfort her, even when she was a child. So Emma had always just shaken herself awake, gotten over it, and moved on. Dreams weren't real.

For most of Emma's life, it was her real world problems that needed all of her focus and attention.

But now, someone _was_ here to care, and Emma was grateful for that, even if it wasn't her way to collapse into his arms trembling and crying, despite how horrific, and familiar, and _real_ this nightmare had felt.

The memory of the nightmare would fade. She was warm and safe and loved and right where she was supposed to be. She was fine.

“It wasn't fun,” she replied, finally. “But it's over. I'm okay now”

Even in the lowlight, she recognized his arched eyebrow. “Really? You were shaking and seemed quite petrified. Like you were trying to cry out but couldn't. It took me a few minutes to roust you. Do you remember what you were dreaming?”

Killian was looking at her intently, with so much concern. She didn't want to worry him, not for a bad dream, because he would worry. The day of their daughter's arrival was coming soon, and even though he put up a brave front, she knew that he worried about everything from whether their car would start when it was time to go to the hospital to whether the illustrious Dr. Whale would show up when called.

He worried about all the potential complications that could arise when the time came, studying the meaning of scary new (to him) terms like preeclampsia, breech birth, and caesarean sections.

But, these were all normal, 'land without magic' type worries. The kind of worries most people had in the months and weeks before the arrival of a new baby. She _liked_ that those were the only kind of fears that they faced now.

She didn't want to have to add dark, magical bad omens to to the list of worries for either of them.

But they didn't lie to each other, not ever. Their previous attempts to conceal painful truths to avoid hurting each other had only ended in heartache. They were a team. He loved her and wanted to comfort her; that was all. He never shied away from sharing her burdens as his own.

So, she relented and told him everything about the dream. The hospital, the handcuffs, the zombie-like doctor who handed their daughter to the hooded figure, the Dark One.

He was quiet, but she felt the tension in his body grow as she recounted her dream. She felt terrible.

“Oh Emma, I'm so sorry” he finally said, soothingly but with a slight hitch in his voice. He reached his left arm behind her back to pull her as close as he could, her body angled against his so that her seven-months-pregnant belly rested against his stomach. He released her hand and reached up to rest his hand against her large stomach, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“It's okay,” she replied. “Really, this is just normal pregnancy anxiety giving me crazy dreams.”

He arched that eyebrow again in response.

“Look, my first experience giving birth totally sucked,” she explained, just a hint of pain in her voice at the memory. “I obviously have some underlying anxiety that this time is going to somehow suck too, hence the nightmare. I _know_ that everything is going to be fine.”

“Are you sure, love? The idea of losing our little lass...to _that_ of all things. It's difficult to even think about. I can't imagine how painful it must have been to see it unfold in your dream.” His worried eyes reflected the low light from the window behind her.

Damn him. He could always read her like a book.

But everything _was_ going to be fine, and he shouldn't have to worry. Sure, she was a little shaken, but the fear was abating. They were going to be okay. She raised her head, looked him squarely in the eyes, smiled and said, “I'm sure.”

“Good,” he replied, relaxing slightly as he continued to stroke her belly. “You should be sure, because _I've_ never been more certain of anything than of I am of the fact that I'm going to be by your side, in your nice, cozy room at Storybrooke hospital, cheering you on as you give birth to what is sure to be the most brilliant and beautiful pirate princess that ever sailed the seas.”

“You're so cheesy,” she snorted, genuinely starting to relax now. She burrowed her head into the side of his neck, enjoying his warmth and his scent.

“Aye, but you're stuck with me,” he replied happily.

She grinned into his neck, and then smiled even wider when his hand stilled suddenly and he gasped just a bit. She could feel the reason right inside her belly. Their baby girl was awake too, and she was kicking up a storm.

“Your mother woke you up too, poor little love?” Killian chided happily, leaning down a bit so that he could talk to the suddenly active spot just below where his hand rested on Emma's bump.

“Hey, I'm right here. I can hear you!” Emma mock-protested.

“Don't worry, darling,” he teased, continuing to address their baby. “She can be a bit of a handful when she first wakes up. Not a morning person.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable,” she laughed.

“She may look like the loveliest angel you could ever imagine, even first thing in the morning,” he continued. “But don't let it fool you, she's a bit of a monster until she's had cocoa and a bear claw. Don't worry, love, Daddy's a sailor. I'll be bright-eyed and ready for duty at dawn if you need me.”

“Don't be fooled, kid,” Emma told her belly. “When you wake up hungry, _Mom_ is going to be your feeding supply. We'll know what's what, snuggling together while Daddy is fast asleep.”

“Hey,” Killian whined, sounding genuinely hurt at the idea of being left out.

Emma smiled, “Okay, Daddy can wake up too if he wants. We'll let him have some snuggles.”

They continued to talk to their baby, feel for more kicks, and tease each other lovingly for a few more minutes before settling off to another hour of peaceful, dreamless sleep before they had to get up for work.

 

Despite the interrupted sleep, Killian was extra cheerful at breakfast, continuing to lovingly tease her about her sleepiness as he served her a plate of eggs and toast and sprinkled extra cinnamon on her hot chocolate.

She laughed at his jokes and cleaned at her plate. They chatted about their pre-baby “to do” list (the nursery was done, but they really needed a new car, and they hadn't decided on a name) as she drove him to the harbor, where he was planning spend the day with Smee working on fixing up the Sheriff department's recently acquired patrol boat. It was expected to be an unseasonably warm day for late January in Maine, with a high temperature in the forties, and Killian was anxious to get a head start on this new project.

She thought he was crazy for being willing to spend the day out in the cold fixing up a boat that would inevitably just be used to track down drunk dwarves any time they decided to take a fishing boat on a joyride in the quiet harbor.

Everything was normal, but her dream loomed over her, and she was uneasy.

Before Killian got out of the car, he searched her eyes.

“Everything's going to be all right, Emma,” he said sincerely, adding a slight nod of encouragement.

“I know.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I _do_ know,” she reaffirmed.

“I can come with you to the station today,” he offered.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she snorted. “I'm the freaking savior, not to mention the Sheriff. I don't need my hand held all day because I had a bad dream.”

He relented at her confident tone, nodding and kissing her firmly before he got out of the car.

But as she drove back up to town alone, a knot of anxiety grew and tightened in her chest.

 

All morning, Emma sat at her desk in the Sheriff's office, working on the ancient PC, organizing and archiving some old records. The work was tedious, and her mind kept wandering back to her dream.

She mostly believed what she had told Killian last night; that the nightmare was simply the result of normal anxiety and some of her collective bad experiences: giving up Henry when she was young, becoming and then battling the Dark One. But a part of her, the part that had gotten used to the fact that magic was real, that prophecies could come true, and that spells, curses, and evil beings could destroy lives; that part was less sure.

The had long been free of any threat from the Dark One, she reminded herself. Rumpelstiltskin again carried that burden as his own, and he had gone far away, off with his family to find a way to rid himself and the world of the curse forever.

The Dark One was not a threat to them or their baby. She knew that. But she'd had prophetic dreams before, and this caused her to wonder, _was_ there a threat out there? Something dark and sinister that wanted her baby, the product of true love, a child that would be born blessed with the most powerful light magic? She knew from experience that such a child could be useful to an evil thing, or it could pose a threat that the evil thing would want to eliminate.

A chill ran down Emma's spine at the thought.

All morning, she considered leaving the station to head to the library. Belle and Regina had left behind many powerful magical volumes in a locked room in the back. She could spend the day researching the history of Dark One's appearance in dreams; maybe she could learn whether it could be a portent of a real threat.

But she stayed put, forcing the rational side of her mind to win out. It was one dream.

At 11:30, she sighed and headed to Granny's, eager for a distraction. She wasn't particularly hungry. Her anxious mind was giving her a nervous stomach, but she knew she had to eat. “Don't worry kid,” she said, patting her bump, “It's almost grilled cheese time.”

She spent a few minutes chatting with Marco as she waited for her “to go” bag, and then headed back to the station. She ate about half of the sandwich and a couple of onion rings before deciding that her heart and her stomach just weren't in it. Her baby, however, had perked up after the meal, and kicked and bounced around inside her as Emma turned back to her work. The sensation, as always, made her smile.

But at the same time, she was also becoming resigned to the fact that her fear had taken root in her heart.

She didn't want to be pessimistic or afraid to hope for the best. That had been her life for a very long time, and she _liked t_ he person she had become since finding her family and meeting Killian. A person who could let herself feel happiness; a person who could relax and enjoy her life without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But she couldn't relax today, not after seeing her baby daughter taken away from her, even if just in a dream. Her mind wandered again back to the magical volumes at the library, the magical ingredients in her shed, and how she might use them to ease her mind, when her phone dinged, alerting her to a text message.

_**Killian** : How are my two favorite lasses this fine day? Did you get yourselves lunch?_

_**Emma:** We did. The usual from Granny's. How is boat repair going?_

  _ **Killian:** Splendid. Smee was even kind enough to pack up some salted cod and sardines for our lunch. (sick face emoji.) Apparently they were supposed to remind us of “the good old days” on the high seas (eye roll emoji.) _

She laughed to herself. It had taken Killian a long time to fully adapt to smartphone technology, and he had particularly resisted using emojis (“I was educated in the Royal Navy, Swan. What kind of man would I be if I couldn't clearly articulate my thoughts without the use of tiny, silly pictures?”) Ultimately, however, he had adopted the practice when he realized that he could make her laugh with corny heart eyes emojis or some ridiculous innuendo involving an eggplant.

Emma sighed, wishing he was nearby. She thought for a moment and looked around at the quiet, empty station before responding. The idea of spending the afternoon in front of her PC, waiting for any distress or disturbance calls she could easily take on her cell phone, had lost all appeal.

_**Emma:** _ _Hey, any chance you could call it an early day? I can come get you in about a half hour?_

_**Killian:** _ _Of course, love! As you wish. See you soon! (winking emoji, heart eyes emoji, thumbs up emoji)_

 

It had turned out to be an even warmer day than originally predicted, and the surprisingly warm winter sun shown down as Emma got out of her yellow Bug after parking it near the tiny shack at the docks they used as their harbor patrol headquarters, and where Killian was stopping to drop off some tools he'd been using that morning.

She had zipped her parka against the cold she expected, but the sun was warm on her face and hair, and she closed her eyes, raising her face toward the light. She took a deep breath, enjoying the cleansing feel of crisp, cool sea air as she inhaled and exhaled.

She looked down as she heard Killian exit the small shack. He walked toward her, a smile on his face, but worry in his blue eyes. His lined black leather bomber jacket lay open over the grey wool fisherman's sweater she had given him for Christmas. His ears and nose were tinged charmingly pink from long exposure the winter air.

He looked impossibly handsome, but what else was new?

He walked up to her and kissed her forehead. “So, we're playing hockey this afternoon then?”

“What?” she asked, confused. “Ohhhh, no, it's _hooky_. We're playing _hooky_.”

“Ah. I didn't think that sounded right.”

“Pretty close though,” she said, grinning at him.

She knew that they had serious things to discuss, but her heart already felt lighter just by being in his presence. And it really was a beautiful day. An idea struck her.

“Hey, do you want to go sit in our spot? Or are you tired of being outside?”

He studied her briefly before responding. “I would love to, but isn't it a bit cold for you?”

“No, this is perfect. I spent half the day cooped up in that office battling the oldest and slowest computer known to man. I feel like breathing some fresh air and staring at the horizon.”

He nodded and offered his arm, which she took, and they began their leisurely stroll to “their” spot, a low seawall on a quiet section of the harbor just north of a long jetty.

They sat down when they reached the wall, him sideways with one foot on the ground beneath either side of the wall, his left leg and arm supporting her (not currently inconsequential) weight as she faced the water and leaned against him comfortably.

At first they chatted about their respective days so far. But soon they drifted into a companionable silence, and she leaned farther sideways to rest her head on the front of his left shoulder and collarbone, enjoying a quiet moment before she shared her dark thoughts.

Finally, she lifted her head, shifted slightly so that she could face him, and said, “So I'm still really freaked out about that nightmare.”

“Aye, I had a feeling.”

She nodded a bit and then continued. “And I've spent most of the day thinking that it might be a real sign, an actual threat, and that I need to _do_ something about it. That Emma Swan doesn't like leaving things to chance, and that this is too important to just brush aside and hope it was nothing.”

He considered her and then said, “I know that your nightmare was terrifying, and I can't even imagine how it felt to experience it. But was there anything about it that made it feel truly prophetic?”

“I've had prophetic dreams before,” she replied, not liking the slightly defensive tone that had crept into her voice. “And visions, when I predicted that I would have to fight Gideon on Main Street.”

“Aye, I remember,” he replied gently. “But the visions only came when you were awake, didn't they? And have you had prophetic dreams since our time in the Underworld? Like, last week, didn't you tell me about a crazy dream that you had? Are you fretting about that one coming true?”

She thought back to the previous Thursday, when they had ordered in Chinese food, and she might have overindulged just a bit on sesame chicken.

She sighed defeatedly and answered, “I dreamed that Leroy and I were riding the Cyclone at Coney Island, and I kept telling him that I had to get off the ride because I was pregnant. But he was laughing like a maniac and kept pulling me back onto the seat raving about how it was too much fun to stop.”

“Ah, that's right,” he said neutrally. He wasn't being smug about the point he was obviously making, he was simply asking her to step back and see the bigger picture.

“Look, this was different,” she argued. “Obviously, I'm not going to be taking Leroy on a baby-moon to Brooklyn any time soon.”

He chuckled slightly at that. 'Baby-moon' was a term he'd learned from Mary Margaret.

“But the Dark One has been a real threat in our lives,” she continued. “And...” She felt a lump rise in her throat again as she struggled to continue. He tightened his arm around her and reached his hand up and around her to soothingly rub her left arm.

He leaned his forehead against the side of her head so that his lips were against her ear, and he whispered, “It's okay, love.”

She took a breath, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the comfort he gave, before finally steeling herself and continuing, “And almost _everyone_ we know has had to watch their baby get taken from them  _right_ after they were born.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she recounted her memories. “Zelena took Neal. _I_ took Robin. Belle gave up Gideon to Blue, and then he was stolen by the freakin' Black Fairy.” She felt Killian pull her tighter still.

“I guess that now I feel like this is  _just_ what happens to people in this town, and now it's _our_ turn to have something dark and terrible show up to take our kid.” She bit her lip, continuing to fight the tears, and she felt him take a ragged breath and sigh against her ear.

Suddenly, he pulled back a bit to look at her with concerned eyes and asked, “Have you been worried about this since we found out you were pregnant?”

“No! Crazy enough, it only occurred to me today, after my dream. Everything has been so peaceful and easy here lately, and I really haven't been worried about more than the usual baby stuff we always talk about. And Henry, of course. And then, after this nightmare, I thought, how stupid of me not to think of this! _Everyone_ in Storybrooke has something terrible happen to their babies. Of course it's going to happen to us, to the Savior!”

“But that's just it, Emma, that's _not_ what happens here anymore. All that evil that threatened those children, it's gone now, because of you. Because _you_ saved us again and again, and you've kept the evil away for years now. It's gone.”

“I want to believethat's true,” she replied skeptically. “I hope it is. But, what if it's not? If there's something out there lurking, something that wants her because of what she is...how can I rest or live through these next two months without being sure?”

“Look, Emma,” he began, his brow furrowed, searching for the right words. “When Henry left, and then when he decided to stay in that other realm, how did you feel?”

“Terrified,” she replied with a dark chuckle.

“Aye, me too. As much as I believe Henry can take care of himself, I was scared, and still am, that he might meet a foe he can't vanquish. But I _hope_ that he can defeat any enemies he meets, and I have faith that the world won't send him into too dire a situation. And every few weeks, he gets a message to us, and that faith is affirmed.”

“Look, I get what you're saying. Having a kid, being a parent is always a leap of faith. But Henry is a grown man. Our daughter is just going to be a helpless infant.”

“Be that as it may, but in my years with you, being privileged to help raise your son and to start a family of our own, I've learned that the worry a person feels for their children, no matter their age, is unlike any other. It can consume you if you let it. Emma, you had to give up Henry when he was born. And years later, you watched terrible things happen to the newborn babies of people you care for. Of course those events left an imprint on your mind. And now it seems that your subconscious has connected those memories to all your current worries about giving birth to our daughter. It only makes sense that this combination of memories and fear would eventually manifest itself...”

“As a really creepily specific nightmare,” she finished, seeing the reasoning. Beginning to relax. “Wow, you could give Archie a run for his money.”

He smiled and replied, “Aye? Should I change professions? Hang up a shingle in town that says Dr. Jones?”

She snorted with laughter, suddenly picturing him in a tweed jacket and sporting tiny round spectacles more akin to those of the famous movie archaeologist Dr. _Indiana_ Jones.

“No?”

“No, I like my deputy husband right where he is, thank you.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, eyes twinkling with mirth and maybe a couple of unshed tears of laughter and relief.

She felt her own eyes glisten as she regarded him. Once again, just talking to him, sharing what was in her heart and hearing his kind, understanding, and thoughtful responses had eased her burden. She felt infinitely lighter and more at ease than she had all day.

"I'm still going to worry, you know,” she said.

“I know. So will I. But can we at least agree that for now we'll hope for the best, and forgo using any dangerous spells or potions in an attempt to see the future? Or at least unless we get another ominous sign?”

She nodded, looking back out at the calm horizon, which was beginning to darken a bit as the winter afternoon sun sunk lower in the sky behind them.

“We're still going to have Zelena put a protection spell over the maternity ward at the hospital when you go into labor, though,” Killian added after a moment.

“Damn right we are.”

 

The following Sunday morning, they sat together on their couch, his coffee and her hot chocolate resting on coasters on the coffee table in front of them. The weather had turned back into seasonably freezing Maine-in-January weather, and Killian had built a fire in the fireplace to ward off the chill of the wind that whipped the outside of the house.

Emma's socked feet were nestled in Killian's lap, and he absently stroked her leg with his hand as he again perused the final chapters of What to Expect When You're Expecting, the volume resting open on his left forearm.

Emma's nightmare had not made a repeat appearance since she'd had it four nights ago, and she and Killian had both begun to relax again. The images of the dream remained in Emma's mind, though, causing her stomach to twist with worry whenever she let her mind conjure them, but they felt less and less vivid as the days passed.

On this morning, the coziness of their house and the steady warmth of Killian's presence were keeping her fears firmly at bay. The day she would give birth to their daughter was again becoming a much anticipated happy event, rather than a source of fear.

Emma was flipping through a book of baby names and their origins for about the hundredth time, coming back to certain names again and again, but something about each name would always rub her the wrong way. Maybe it would have been shared by one of the countless other foster kids with whom she'd lived over the years, most of whom had ranged from icily distant to flat out cruel. No need for any reminders of those days.

Sometimes, they'd like the sound of a name, only to discount it because something about the definition rubbed one of them the wrong way.

Family names weren't working for them either. They each had borne tremendous sadness in their pasts, losing their parents at a young age, even if Emma had found hers again. They both felt strongly about giving their little girl her own sense of identity, focused on the future, and free from the memories of the past and all its scars that they had worked hard to put behind them.

Finally, Emma found herself staring at a page in the 'H' chapter for a long few minutes. “Hmm,” she said.

“Hmm?” Killian inquired. “Has inspiration struck?”

“Maybe,” she said slowly. “I think I like one name, but I don't know if it's too corny. I'm afraid you won't like it.”

“Darling, don't you often tell me that I probably invented being corny?”

She snorted with laughter, “I do, don't I?”

“So...what name has piqued your interest?”

She paused, turning it over in her mind again, before responding, “Well, how about Hope?”

He smiled slowly, and said, “Hope. It's quite pretty.”

“It is, isn't it?” she replied. “I know it might be a little 'on the nose' as they say, but I was just thinking about how much I've grown and changed these last few years. How I used to roll my eyes at Mary Margaret's hope speeches. But now, I realize how important hope is. It's carried me through some really hard times, and I'm so proud that I've become the kind of person who _hopes_ and _believes_ that my family and I have years of happiness ahead of us, and that darkness isn't always lurking around the corner.

He beamed at her proudly, his eyes glistening a bit with unshed tears. He placed his book on the coffee table and reached for her, pulling her legs forward across him and lifting her so that she sat sideways in his lap as she laughed and reminded him that she was heavier than she used to be.

He scoffed and squeezed her tightly before replying, “Hope. I think it's wonderful.” He looked down at her belly, patting the side of it gently with his hand. “What do you think, little lass? Does Hope Swan-Jones suit you?”

Their daughter answered with a couple of firm kicks close to where his hand rested, and Killian grinned up at Emma, his eyes twinkling. “I think she approves!” He said.

She gave him a wry smile as she looked back at him, her arms circling his neck. “It seems like she does, or it could just be the sugar from the hot chocolate kicking in.” She paused, thinking, and then said “Are we _sure_? There are a lot of options out there...” She trailed off, a little uncertainty creeping back in.

“I'll tell you what,” he suggested. “We'll make a deal. When we go to your parents' house for dinner later, if Mary Margaret says the word “hope” within the first five minutes of our arrival, we'll take it as another good sign, and Hope she will be.”

Emma grinned down at him happily. “That's perfect!”

They spent the rest of the morning laughing and snuggling in the warmth of their home.

 

That evening, it had started to snow lightly as they pulled into the driveway at David and Mary Margaret's farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Emma had steered the Bug skillfully on the slick roads, but it was another reminder that they needed to get a more sensible car.

“Now that we've crossed choosing a name off of our list, we should focus on getting a more substantial vehicle,” Killian said, as he came around to her side to take her arm for the walk to the door (and apparently read her thoughts as usual.)

“Wait a minute,” she teased. “We don't know for sure that we've picked a name! We need to wait for the sign from Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, she'll come through,” he replied confidently.

Mary Margaret threw open the front door as they walked up the steps, and Emma surreptitiously checked her watch so that she could begin to measure the five minutes.

“Emma, Killian!” Mary Margaret cried happily as she hugged each of them in turn and closed the door behind them. “We're so glad you're here! I hope the roads aren't getting too slippery!”

Emma and Killian looked at each other and immediately burst into silly, delighted laughter.

Hope Swan-Jones she would be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a new fic writer, and this is the first work I've posted to AO3 (although this can also be found on ff.net.) Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this speculation about some of the fears Emma might have struggled with while she was pregnant with Hope. This was a one shot, and not part of a bigger story or mystery about Emma's dream. I just love the idea that she, with Killian's help, would be able to find a way stay optimistic (and HOPEful) despite all her past experiences.


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